Crossing Paths

by Dianne Blacklock

  Belle and Joe had both said the same thing, almost the same words. This was getting unnerving. Were her friends getting together and comparing notes?

  ‘Don’t I seem happy to you?’ Jo asked her in a small voice.

  ‘No, you don’t, not really,’ Angie said squarely.

  ‘Do I seem sour or miserable or something?’ Jo had never wanted to be like that. She used to worry she’d become one of those cantankerous old ladies who put the hose on children if they wandered near her front garden.

  ‘No, it’s not like that, it’s like . . .’ Angie thought about it. ‘It’s like you’ve covered yourself in bubble-wrap, and we can still see you, though not very clearly. And we certainly can’t touch you. Nothing can touch you.’ She tore a piece of plastic wrap off the dispenser on the wall and proceeded to seal the container of pesto. ‘But then, you thought of Joe while you were having sex with Lachlan. Obviously someone’s getting through to you. And he has very blue eyes, apparently.’

  Jo felt that cramping sensation in her chest again. She cleared her throat. ‘I have to go.’

  Angie sighed. ‘Of course you do, now that I’ve hit you right in the home truth.’

  ‘No, really, I have to go, I’ve got no clean clothes for the week, no food in the fridge,’ she said, checking her watch. Her good intentions from a few weeks ago had not converted into habit yet. She picked up her bag and headed for the door.

  Angie stood cradling the container in her arms. ‘Hey, mind those trees when you step back out into the forest.’

  Jo ignored her, pushing through the door and stepping out into the dingy back lane.

  When Jo finally got to sleep that night, after an extended period of tossing and turning, she dreamed of a forest. And in the middle of the forest was a clearing, and the moon was shining down onto an enormous four-poster bed, swathed in filmy white curtains, billowing gently in the dreamlike haze. And then Bannister came out from behind the trees and approached the bed, drawing back the curtains. There was a figure lying on the bed. At first Jo got a fright; the figure was wrapped in plastic, like something from a David Lynch movie. But it wasn’t just any old plastic, it was bubble-wrap. As he proceeded slowly, lovingly, to peel back the layers of bubble-wrap, Jo was revealed in all her glory, inch by inch, limb by limb . . .

  She sat up suddenly in bed, panting, her body clammy with perspiration. Bloody Angie.

  Tuesday morning

  Joe was pretending to work, but he couldn’t concentrate. He hadn’t been looking forward to this morning, in fact he’d been dreading it so much he had been tempted to stay up in the mountains another day . . . or three. But he knew that wasn’t going to make things any easier.

  He’d spotted Jo earlier, when he first arrived. She was across the other side of the news floor. He watched her for a moment, till she looked up, meeting his eyes. He couldn’t read her expression . . . was it wistful? Questioning? He wasn’t sure. Who knew with women? Then she smiled a faint, Mona Lisa smile. He gave her a tentative smile in return, and she held his gaze for another moment before looking away.

  What did that mean? He sighed inwardly. But what did it matter, anyway. He’d stuffed up monumentally and he didn’t know how he was going to put things right again. So he walked into his office, closed the door and pretended to work.

  The inevitable knock came maybe half an hour later.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said despondently.

  The door opened and Carla sidled in. As expected.

  ‘Hey stranger,’ she purred.

  ‘Hey.’

  She laid the palms of her hands flat on the desk and leaned forward to give him a good eyeful of her cleavage. ‘So . . .?’

  ‘So.’ Christ. He’d never been good at this.

  ‘So, you don’t answer your phone over the weekend? Is that it?’ she asked, but her tone wasn’t shrewish, that wouldn’t be a woman like Carla’s style. She’d keep her cool. At least Joe was counting on that.

  ‘I’ve been up the mountains, with my dad,’ he said, his voice catching a little in his throat. ‘Sorry, that’s why I had to leave.’

  She nodded slowly. ‘No problem. I wasn’t expecting a cosy breakfast, Joe, I’m not that kind of girl.’ She came around to where he was sitting and perched on the desk facing him. ‘It’s okay, I realise you probably don’t want to make a thing of this at work. I get it. It’ll just be between you and me.’ She leaned forward and planted a lingering kiss on his lips.

  Say something, you gutless wonder.

  His phone rang. Saved by the bell, coward. He gave her a weak, apologetic smile as he picked up the receiver.

  ‘Joe Bannister.’

  ‘Good morning, Joe, Judith here. Leo would like to see you.’

  ‘Sure, I’ll be right there.’ He hung up. ‘Sorry,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘Leo wants to see me.’

  ‘Well, we can’t keep the boss waiting,’ said Carla, standing up. But she didn’t move out of his way. What did she want? A goodbye kiss? He couldn’t deal with this now. He circled around the desk the other way, but she intercepted him at the door, blocking his path.

  ‘Listen, Joe, I meant what I said, you don’t have to be wary of me. I like clandestine. I find it exciting. Stimulating even.’

  Christ. ‘Okay . . . well, Leo’s waiting.’

  He had to reach his arm around her to open the door, and as he did she sidled in closer to him, making sure her body came into as much contact with his as was physically possible. This was hardly what he would call clandestine. She lifted her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers, before grazing them against his lips. ‘Call me,’ she breathed, and slithered off.

  He looked up and Jo was standing by her desk, staring directly at him. No Mona Lisa smile this time. Fuck.

  There was nothing he could do about it right now, he had to see Leo. Maybe lunch, he would ask Jo to lunch, to explain. Explain what? And why? He already knew how she’d react. She’d get all uppity and distant again, insist it was none of her business, that they just worked together. But they didn’t just work together. There was something else, something more, and he wanted to bring it out into the open and deal with it, once and for all.

  So why’d you sleep with another woman working in the same office, you bloody idiot?

  Jo headed for the ladies room; she needed a minute to collect herself before the editorial meeting. She felt agitated again. She’d felt agitated almost constantly since the day she’d had the misfortune to be trapped in an elevator with Joe Bannister. Soul mate? He was more like a thorn in her side.

  At least he wouldn’t be at the meeting. He never came to editorial meetings, obviously considering himself above the rest of the staff, whose attendance was more or less mandatory. Jo walked into the ladies and straight into a cubicle. She lowered the lid of the toilet and sat, propping her elbows on her knees and her chin on her hands.

  Bloody Ange and her bloody romantic ideas. Why had she paid her the slightest bit of attention? But the real mistake Jo had made was in thinking she and Bannister could be friends. Men and women could never be friends. Men didn’t even like women. They tolerated them so they could get them into bed. That was all Bannister had been angling for all along, and when he missed his chance the other night, he obviously found someone more willing. Jo was glad she hadn’t kidded herself that it was anything more than that. Maybe her heart was wrapped in bubble-wrap, but that was not such a bad thing, it had stopped it from getting broken.

  Someone walked into the toilets, but didn’t proceed to a stall; the clacking of high heels came to a halt at the basins. Jo waited to hear the taps running, but nothing happened. Whoever it was, they were having a good gawk at themselves in front of the mirror. She had better make some noise to announce herself. She rustled the toilet paper and then stood up, pressing the button to flush. When she opened the door, Carla was pouting at the mirror, applying lipstick. Jo gave her a cursory smile as she crossed to a basin and turned on the tap.

  ‘Hi Jo,�
�� Carla said with weary indifference. She was much more interested in her own reflection, as she proceeded to fluff and primp and buff. Jo noticed a rather hefty cosmetics bag propped on the edge of the basin. It was nine-thirty in the morning, how could she already need to touch up her make-up? Jo walked to the dispenser and pulled out a paper towel, wiping her hands as she surreptitiously watched Carla’s reflection in the mirror. She thought about her and Bannister together, she could see him coming up behind her, kissing her neck, his hand sliding across her shoulder and down . . .

  ‘Are you right there, Jo?’ said Carla, raising an eyebrow as she looked straight at her.

  ‘Sorry,’ she jumped, ‘in another world.’ She turned on her heel and hurried out of the room, feeling like an idiot.

  She stopped by her desk to grab a pad and a pen, and then made her way to the conference room. Hugh Moncrieff was already there, contemplating a series of food photographs he had spread out before him with the kind of relish another bloke might reserve for porn. Jo skirted around to the other side of the table and pulled out a chair.

  He looked up. ‘Hello there, Jo. Been for a run?’

  ‘Sorry?’ she said, sitting down.

  ‘You’re looking rather flushed, pink, like the outside rim of the centre of a lovely piece of rare sirloin.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

  ‘As well you should.’

  Others began to drift in, with nods and hellos, engaging in polite but meaningless chatter, as per usual. Jo didn’t consider any of these people close friends, and that had always worked fine for her. She should never have messed with the system.

  Then Lachlan arrived. He fixed his gaze on her as he took a seat almost opposite. ‘Jo,’ he said with a faint nod.

  ‘Hi Lachlan,’ she said lightly. He had a strange, tortured look in his eyes that was quite off-putting. Jo picked up her pen and started to scribble in her notepad . . . the date, a heading – all completely superfluous, but it made her appear occupied.

  Leo swept into the room, talking over his shoulder to Bannister, as it turned out, who followed him a moment later. What was he doing here?

  ‘Morning everyone,’ Leo croaked, making his way to the head of the assembly where he slapped a wad of papers down on the table. Jo kept her eyes focused on him, but was unnervingly aware that Bannister had taken a seat across from her, one down from Lachlan. If she were to draw a line to connect the three of them, it would form a perfect triangle.

  Then Carla sauntered in, took a quick inventory of the seating, and deposited herself in the vacant chair between Lachlan and Bannister. Jo watched out of the corner of her eye as Carla turned to give Bannister a seductive wink. Yeesh.

  ‘Okay, let’s get on with it,’ Leo was saying as he shuffled the papers in front of him. ‘We’ve got a lot to cover today, with an important announcement upfront. We’ve been allocated a place as part of a special envoy of journalists travelling to Iraq under the direct auspices of the Minister for Foreign Affairs and the Deputy Commander of Australian forces in Iraq, to report on our current commitment to Operation Catalyst.’ He began to read from a press release. ‘“The envoy will tour the Joint Task Force Headquarters and meet members of the Australian Security Detachment as well as representatives from the Australian Army Training Team. They will also travel to the southern Iraqi province of Dhi Qar to inspect the headquarters of Overwatch Battle Group-West at Tallil Air Base.”’

  Leo looked up from the paper. ‘I’m pleased to say that after consultation with our senior journalists, Lachlan Barr has accepted the assignment. Because of his already high profile, Lachlan is well placed to bring a lot of kudos to the paper. He deserves congratulations.’

  Jo was staring wide-eyed at him, but he was modestly accepting the sprinkle of applause that rippled through the room. Then his gaze returned to Jo, giving her that same vaguely tortured look.

  Leo went on in more detail, mostly about how the paper would capitalise on the opportunity, but Jo didn’t listen to much after that. Everyone’s voices seemed to echo incomprehensibly in her ears. Why was Lachlan doing this? He was the Trib’s poster boy, he didn’t need to get his hands dirty. This was something Don would have taken part in happily. Though Jo remembered that his wife had been unwell recently. Had Lachlan been given little choice? Is that what the tortured looks were about? She could feel someone’s eyes on her now and she glanced up, but it was Bannister staring at her from across the table. He looked away immediately. Why the hell wasn’t he going? All right, his father was sick, but it was only for a few weeks, and he was the one with all the experience, the big famous war correspondent . . . Lachlan was the suit and tie man who went to premiers’ conferences. He was so not the guy for this.

  Eventually the meeting returned to business as normal, but Jo’s head was still spinning. When it was her turn, she spoke on autopilot. She would do her column on Paris/Britney/Lindsay’s latest escapades, something about bad girls becoming role models, link it with increasing rates of drug and alcohol abuse in young women . . . Jo didn’t even know if she was making sense, and it all seemed so painfully trite. But Leo must have been satisfied, because he moved on when she had finished her spiel, without any comment except ‘Next’.

  As soon as he wrapped up the meeting, Jo sprang from her seat and sidled past everyone and out the door. She went directly to her desk and took up watch. When Lachlan appeared she was going to follow him into his office and find out what the hell was going through his head. But he was taking longer than expected. Some of the staff had probably hung back to talk to him about it. Jo started to scroll through her emails to fill in time, but they were a blur. Her phone rang and she picked it up.

  ‘Jo Liddell.’

  ‘Hi Jo, it’s me.’

  ‘Oh, hi Belle, what’s up?’ She sincerely hoped this was not going to be some conspiracy theory about the state of Charlene’s health.

  ‘Well, I’ve got some dates for you . . . I know how busy you are, so I thought if I offered you four alternatives, we should be able to find something that suits.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Our double date!’ she chirped.

  Oh, for . . .

  ‘You know, even Darren’s excited about it,’ she went on eagerly. ‘And I’ve lined up little Tegan from around the corner to babysit. Well, she’s not so little any more, she’s fifteen now and she’s started doing babysitting around the neighbourhood. Her mum or dad always make sure they’re home so she’s got back-up. You met them I’m pretty sure . . . Bill and Tracey, they were at the twins’ party? Tracey has the blonde flick cut, and I think she was wearing a blue tank top that day, and a nice pair of cuffed shorts, she’s got the legs . . .’

  Jo had stopped listening back at ‘Tegan from around the corner’. Lachlan finally appeared, heading for his office.

  ‘Belle,’ she interrupted, ‘I have to go, I’m in the middle of something.’

  ‘Sure, sure,’ said Belle. ‘Let me just give you these dates, and you can get back to me later.’

  Jo sighed. ‘Look, it’s not going to happen, Belle,’ she said bluntly.

  ‘Why, what do you mean?’

  She could hear the hurt in her sister’s voice. She had to put an end to this, once and for all.

  ‘We broke up.’

  ‘No!’ she cried. ‘Jo, you promised you’d give it a chance. He’s so lovely, he’s the nicest boyfriend you’ve ever –’

  ‘Yeah, well he cheated on me, Belle.’

  Finally there was silence down the line.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Belle said after a while, her voice small and hushed.

  ‘What do you mean, am I sure?’ said Jo. Lachlan went into his office and closed the door. ‘I really have to go.’

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Of course I am.’

  ‘Jo . . .’

  ‘I really have to go, Belle. I’ll talk to you later.’ She hung up the phone and walked briskly over to Lachlan�
�s office, knocking on the door.

  ‘Come in,’ he said wearily.

  Jo slipped inside, closing the door behind her. Lachlan was reclined back in his chair, facing the window, his feet crossed, propped up on the edge of the desk. He was tossing something – paperclips? – into a wastepaper basket that he’d positioned on top of the filing cabinet.

  ‘Lachlan,’ she began, ‘why are you doing this?’

  ‘To see how many I can get in without missing. So far, fifteen.’

  Jo dragged a chair around to the other end of the desk where she could see his face, and sat down. ‘Why are you going to Iraq? You’ve got kids, Leo would never make you go if you said you didn’t want to.’

  ‘I volunteered,’ he said simply.

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Why do you think?’ he said, meeting her eyes for the first time.

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘You don’t, huh? Well, let’s just say I wanted a challenge.’ He tossed another paperclip. ‘Score,’ he said, making a victory fist.

  ‘What does Sandra have to say about it?’

  ‘She doesn’t know yet.’

  ‘You volunteered for something like this without discussing it with your wife?’

  ‘She won’t have a problem with it, she never does.’

  ‘You’ve never gone into a war zone before.’

  He was aiming another paperclip. ‘No . . . I . . . haven’t,’ he said, as he lobbed it into the basket.

  ‘Lachlan . . .’

  He glanced at her.

  ‘Talk to me?’

  ‘Sorry, hun, I want to beat my previous record, twenty-seven not out, and you’re putting me off my game a little.’

  Jo sighed. She got up and moved the chair back before crossing to the door, where she paused as another paperclip sailed into the bin. She opened the door and stepped out, straight into Bannister’s path as he went to walk by.

  ‘Sorry,’ he muttered, manoeuvring awkwardly around her.

  ‘Can I talk to you?’ she said tightly.

  ‘Sure.’ He stopped, but he couldn’t look at her.

  ‘Your office, perhaps?’ she suggested.